


Binding

by hollybennett123



Category: James Bond (Movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Rimming, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollybennett123/pseuds/hollybennett123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“As far as presents go,” Q says, casually stretching his arms over his head and crossing his wrists on top of the pillow, “I rather think this one is as much for your benefit as it is for mine.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Binding

**Author's Note:**

> This has been like 90% written since February and I've _finally_ gotten round to filling in the missing bits and posting it! In my previous 00Q fic [Numerical Data](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5357381) there's a scene where Bond discovers Q's sex toy collection:
> 
> _“One day I’m just going to play with you for hours,” Bond muses as he slips two fingers back into Q, easy as anything. ... “I’d eat you out first,” Bond says nonchalantly, and Q feels hot all over at the memory of the last time he did so; the overwhelming pleasure of it, and the blush of stubble burn on his inner thighs that lingered long after. “Tongue you open right here,” he continues, thumbing lightly over Q’s sensitive rim, “and then slip each of your pretty toys into you one after the other to see if I can work out which one’s your favourite.”_
> 
> This fic is essentially based on that. It's totally standalone and you don't need to have read Numerical Data first, but if you haven't I would recommend you do if only because I consider it to be a far superior fic to this one with actual character development and stuff XD Special shout out to [aln63ny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aln63ny/pseuds/aln63ny) who suggested this premise for a sequel many months ago. I had half considered it but their comment pushed me into doing something about it! ♥

“As far as presents go,” Q says, casually stretching his arms over his head and crossing his wrists on top of the pillow, “I rather think this one is as much for your benefit as it is for mine.”

Bond, frowning in concentration, kneels beside him on the bed and leans over in order to loop the sleek strip of black silk over Q’s hands and around the bars of the headboard.

“Probably not the most selfless of the gifts I’ve given you, no,” he agrees, his fingers brushing against Q’s as he knots the fabric, “yet somehow I don’t think you’ll hold it against me.”

Once satisfied, Bond sits back to allow Q to test the restraint, tugging at it to ensure it’ll hold. The silk is blissfully smooth and luxurious-feeling against Q’s bare skin, and ordinarily he’d give Bond a telling-off for spending too much on him, but this – just this once – he’ll allow.

“Perfect,” Q says, a touch breathless and feeling more naked than ever, laid out on the sheets while Bond, still clad in sweatpants that admittedly leave little to the imagination, looks him up and down so slowly and with such composed intensity that Q burns with anticipation.

Bond touches his fingers to Q’s knee and it’s enough to have Q carelessly spreading his legs for him, making space for Bond to settle between them and brace himself over Q with his weight on his hands; he glances at Q’s mouth momentarily but makes no move to kiss him, a seemingly conscious decision that only makes Q ache all the more for it.

“You’re putting a remarkable amount of trust in me,” Bond tells him, glancing over Q’s flushed chest and his hard cock.

Q shifts underneath him, seeking friction, but Bond holds himself just out of reach. “That’s rather the point, is it not?”

“You don’t trust me,” Bond says carefully, pensive, a statement rather than a question.

Despite Q placing himself in what should be the more vulnerable position, Bond looks somewhat taken aback by what’s being offered to him, his gaze uncertain and searching as though convinced Q should surely want to change his mind about the whole thing.

“Not always,” Q agrees brightly. It’s hardly a revelation. “But with this? I do, actually. I’m quite comfortable like this, and if you do anything I don’t like then I will _tell you_ , so you can stop looking quite so worried.”

“I’m not _worried_ ,” Bond grouses, though the tense line of his shoulders relaxes somewhat and there’s a hint of a smile there as he says it.

“Of course not, perish the thought,” Q says, rolling his eyes. “Now, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Bond shakes his head. “Demanding thing,” he says roughly, stroking a hand over Q’s bicep. He places a kiss to the skin there, and another to his shoulder.

“Not what I meant,” Q says, lifting his chin in clear invitation; god he _aches_ for it, hasn’t ever wanted Bond’s mouth on his as much as he does right now with the knowledge that he can do nothing about it other than hope that Bond will give him what he needs.

“You didn’t specify where,” Bond smirks. Touching the pad of his thumb to Q’s lower lip, he drags it lightly across the swell of it and it’s all Q can do not to audibly whimper. “I do like your mouth,” Bond murmurs, and then finally he’s kissing Q, warm and unhurried.

Q’s hands try to move automatically to Bond, to grip at his hair and smooth over the broad expanse of his shoulders, and it’s both thrilling and disappointing when the silk tightens around his wrists and keeps him bound, fingers flexing in frustration. When he parts his lips to say so, Bond merely deepens the kiss and tongues at him in a way that makes Q lose his train of thought entirely.

“You should take these off,” Q gasps against his mouth eventually, nudging at the waistband of Bond’s sweatpants with the inside of one knee before kissing him again.

“No,” Bond says, amused. “Too distracting. If you wanted them off you should have made an attempt to do so while you still had the full use of your hands.”

It’s a good point, but also an annoying one, so Q scowls at him nonetheless until Bond huffs a quiet laugh and kisses him soundly to make up for it. When they finally break apart, Bond palms at Q’s hip with a brusque instruction to _turn over_ , and even once he’s moved back to allow Q room to change position, an expanse of space between them, he doesn’t take his eyes off Q even for a second.

It takes Q a moment to think about how to turn onto his front, uncoordinated with his hands loosely held in place with the tie, but there’s room enough to twist around until he can settle on his stomach, propped up on his elbows.

Bond straddles Q’s thighs, his weight comfortable and warm, and he leans forward to stroke a palm over Q’s shoulder, placing a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“You smell like my shampoo,” Bond says darkly, carding his hands through Q’s hair where it’s still a touch damp from his shower and wildly tousled. He curls his fingers into a fist and gives it a teasing little pull that sparks straight to Q’s cock.

“It’s my bathroom,” Q shrugs, unrepentant. He can’t quite hide the tremor in his voice when Bond pulls harder, seeking a reaction. “If you will insist on leaving your belongings lying around, I can’t promise not to make use of them.”

“Oh, by all means keep using it,” Bond murmurs approvingly, nosing at his ear before moving lower and sucking a mark to the tender skin there. Positioned as he is, straddling Q and leaning forward, Q can feel the jut of Bond’s cock half-hard and pressing up against his arse and it’s stupidly, infuriatingly hot.

“God, please hurry up and do _something_ , Bond,” Q groans when Bond makes no move to try anything beyond his current, lazy exploration of Q’s body.

“Little more than ten minutes in and you’re already begging?”

Q throws him an unimpressed look over his shoulder. “That wasn’t _begging_ , it was a reasonable request.”

“My apologies,” Bond says dryly, hands skimming the sheets as he gently traces the undulations of Q’s ribcage. “The way you whined at me in a pleading tone threw me for a moment.”

Q huffs impatiently and Bond slowly sits upright, silently running a teasing finger down Q’s spine to make him shudder and arch into the bed. Moving off Q entirely, Bond reaches over into the bedside drawer and takes out the lube, uncapping the top with a click.

“Did you finger yourself while showering earlier?” Bond asks him in a low rumble, his own fingers slick and teasing against Q’s hole. “In addition to the shampoo theft, I mean.”

It’s all Q can do not to start making impassioned requests again, biting down on his lip and feeling the scrape of his teeth. “Yes.”

“How many?”

“Fuck,” Q groans shakily as Bond plays with him idly, just the tip of one finger slipping inside. “Two.”

Bond makes a considering noise and then pushes a couple of fingers into him, sweet and slow until he’s knuckle-deep; keeping them pressed inside, his thumb starts doing very interesting things where Q’s stretched open and sensitive, and it’s so good that Q’s mind goes gloriously, blissfully blank.

“Two?” Bond echoes, giving a careful thrust. “I think none, for now,” and then his fingers are sliding free again far too soon, leaving Q empty in a way that feels so much more frustrating than it did mere seconds before.

He moves to straddle Q’s legs once again, further back this time, and gets a hand on either side of Q’s hips. It’s only when Q feels Bond’s breath hot against him that he realises what he’s about to do, his head dropping forward with a quiet _oh_.

It’s unbelievable, like always, Bond’s talented mouth and the wet curl of his tongue the only thing Q can focus on, panting in shuddering breaths as Bond licks him open. When Bond finally slides his fingers back inside, spreads them slightly and starts tonguing around them, Q has to press his face to his forearm to keep from being embarrassingly loud.

“Fuck,” Q groans, unable to do anything but lie there and take it. “Oh fuck me, that’s lovely. Oh, you’re _perfect_.”

“Christ, you can’t get enough, can you?” Bond growls, fitting a third finger alongside the previous pair, getting a bit rough with him in a way that never fails to get Q worked up. “Perhaps I ought to just give in and shag you senseless like this.”

Q doesn’t actually expect him to do anything – not yet – but there’s a rustle of fabric as Bond pushes the front of his sweatpants down just far enough to take himself in hand and then the hot, hard length of Bond’s cock, bare and sliding against him from base to tip through the mess of spit and lube. The head catches against Q’s hole and he can’t _breathe_ , dizzy with the sudden sheer want of it.

“Do it,” Q gasps as Bond rocks his hips against him, “if you want it that much.” Somehow it sounds more like a plea than permission.

Bond strokes a palm over Q’s arse and squeezes. “You wouldn’t let me fuck you bare,” he whispers knowingly against Q’s ear and – _Christ_ – no he wouldn’t, not really, but the thought of it leaves him breathless, as does Bond’s tone.

Q’s still trying to form words and think of something suitably scathing to reply with when Bond smacks him on the arse hard enough that Q squeaks, pressing his mouth to his arm to muffle the sound all too late as he rubs against the sheets on reflex, desperately seeking stimulation.

When Q finally stills, Bond grinds against him a final time, drawn-out and slow, and then pulls away with a quiet, shaking breath, tucking himself back into his sweatpants. Placing a hand on Q’s waist, he gently encourages him back over.

“An impressive display of willpower,” Q says dazedly, blinking up at him.

“Of mine, yes,” Bond agrees. His calm demeanour is marred slightly by the flush of arousal across his chest and the fact that he’s still very obviously, mouth-wateringly hard. “Yours? Alarmingly poor.”

“Do shut up,” Q says, trying and failing to hide his smile. “I knew this was a dreadful idea, you’re insufferable.”

Bond affects a put-upon sigh and sprawls across the bed in order to start rifling through the bedside drawer with purpose. “So you keep telling me.”

After much indecisiveness, the first toy he selects from the drawer is a plug made of sleek silver steel that glints under the soft lighting of the bedroom, short and reasonably narrow. Q gives him an unimpressed look.

“I’m starting small,” Bond says mildly. “Be patient.”

“I could and probably will kill you in your sleep, you unbearable cocktease,” Q sulks before closing his eyes with a sigh.

“Now, now,” Bond says, enjoying himself far too much for a man receiving death threats. “There’s no need to be melodramatic.”

The metal’s slightly cool to the touch when Bond slips it into Q, though not unpleasant, and it quickly heats up to body temperature. Bond spends the next few minutes propped over Q and lazily kissing him. Every so often he reaches down between them to thumb over the flared base of the plug, the resulting sensation of which makes Q’s legs tremble where they’re bracketing Bond’s hips. He accidentally bites Bond at least twice and feels the scrape of Bond’s teeth on his lower lip in retribution.

Q is so lost in it that it’s a shock when Bond removes the plug and places it aside, a sudden rush of cool air across his body when Bond leaves him in order to look through the drawer once again. The next toy he chooses is a smooth dildo, thick and lightly ridged and really rather lovely if memory serves correctly.

Cocking his head to one side, Q gives the toy a considering look. “A question, if I may. How many of these do we have to go through? I do have rather a lot of toys in that drawer.”

“I can see that,” Bond says scathingly, smearing lube across the head of the dildo with his thumb. “You have to fit them together like a game of bloody tetris just to get them all in there, I’m surprised you get anything done.”

Q can’t help but laugh at that. “I have above-par time management skills. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Fine. Three in total. You’ve only had one so far.”

Three sounds feasible, and Q would tell him so but he finds himself groaning instead as Bond works the dildo inside, the thicker girth of the toy a welcome and satisfying stretch. This time, Bond doesn’t kiss him, nor does he make any other move to touch him; he simply watches the movement of his own hand and the slick drag of the toy back and forth with an unerring focus, eyes dark. Q can’t help but flush hot all over at how exposed he feels, equal parts self-conscious and turned on.

“Look at you,” Bond murmurs, “how well you take it,” and by the time he takes Q’s prick in hand in order to stroke him in time with the thrust of his wrist, steady and exquisite, Q’s panting.

The final toy to be pulled from the drawer is the largest, sleek with a curved tip and a vibrate function that makes Q’s cock twitch just thinking about it.

“Good choice,” Q murmurs, still hazy with pleasure and hoping as soon as he’s said it that it doesn’t prompt Bond to switch it for another purely to annoy him.

“You know, I think you work on these in your spare time,” Bond says instead, testing the weight of it in his palm and examining the base. “Or are you about to tell me you’ve never taken a screwdriver to this to make a few improvements?”

Which – is horribly accurate, but given it only takes a few tweaks here and there, no more than five minutes really, Q can’t imagine why one _wouldn’t_ want to adjust the vibration settings for optimum enjoyment.

“What an outrageous accusation,” Q smirks at him, and Bond raises an impressed eyebrow. “Setting number four, if you don’t mind.”

Somehow, it’s even better than Q was anticipating; while he may have used the toy on himself countless times, he’s never had someone else in control nor experienced it when he’s already worked up from endless amounts of foreplay in advance.

Bond pushes his legs further apart and plays with the angle of the vibrator, all the while keeping up this steady rub-rub-rub inside of him that has Q gasping aloud and leaking all over himself, the sensations drawing him to the brink of coming and then easing back. When Bond slips his free hand into his sweatpants and starts pulling himself off in rough strokes, Q pretty much gives up on coherent thought altogether.

Leaning in, Bond presses his mouth to Q’s hip, his belly, working his way back down. He breathes in cool gusts over Q’s cock and Q lifts his hips, desperate. Bond parts his lips, looks up at Q and smoothly sits back on his heels with a look of insufferable smugness at Q’s outraged expression.

“That’s just _cruel_ ,” Q tells him with feeling, and kicks Bond in the thigh far more gently than he deserves.

Bond catches Q’s ankle smoothly, draping his leg over his arm. “Don’t be a brat,” he admonishes, amused, and resumes the even push-pull of the toy. He flicks at the switch with his thumb, upping the vibration to just this side of too-much and it’s so intense that Q’s pretty sure he can feel it in his very soul. Arching, Q pulls on the tie until his wrists burn, the pain sought-after and sweet.

“I should probably warn you that I’m about to come,” Q tells him, fingernails digging into his palms.

Bond stills his hand – both hands, in fact – and gives him a pointed look. “You can come when I’m inside you.”

“Then you should probably be inside me,” Q grits out, voice tight with the effort of hanging on and not letting himself be tipped over the edge.

The toy is discarded to one side and yet Q is practically vibrating with need himself as he watches Bond slide the condom on. At last Bond is pressing into him and god, he slides home so _easy_ , with a rumbling groan that Q feels right down to his toes.

“Do you need my hand on you?” Bond asks, braced over Q on his hands and rolling his hips.

“I very much doubt it,” Q gasps, and it doesn’t take long – Bond mouthing at his neck, fucking into him just right – until Q’s finally coming, endless and all the better for how long he’s waited.

Bond rocks into him gently, keeps fucking him through it and then continues even once Q’s done. Q feels oversensitive and wrung out, but Bond keeps at him, chasing his own pleasure but with a measured control that suggests he’s holding back for Q’s sake.

“Come on,” Q says, encouraging him with his legs to move faster, shove deeper, wanting to see Bond come apart even if it’s almost overwhelming, hurting, so unbelievably fucking good. When Bond finally does, his hips stutter forward and he leans in to capture Q’s mouth in a bruising kiss. It feels odd, when Q is so used to touching him, to have his hands bound; he settles for watching, absorbing the feeling and murmuring praise throughout.

Bond slows to a few final, lazy thrusts before pulling out and disposing of the condom. He unknots the silk tie with unsteady fingers, unhooking it from the bed so it’s draped loosely around Q’s wrists, and it takes Q a good minute to catch his breath, dazed and satisfied; they’re both sticky but getting cleaned up can wait, happy to soak in the satisfied buzz.

Eventually, Bond moves onto his side and Q turns to face him, Bond capturing Q’s hands with his own and rubbing his thumbs gently over the marks on Q’s skin where the tie had rested. “Satisfied?”

“Very,” Q sighs. “Top marks for initiative.”

Bond’s lips quirk up in one corner in something akin to a smile, looking thoughtful as he takes the end of the tie and rubs it between his fingertips. “Most of my experiences with being restrained haven’t exactly been positive, but I don’t see why we can’t change that. How are your knot-tying skills?”

Q raises his eyebrows, taken by surprise; Bond honestly never ceases to amaze him.

“Not perfect, I would imagine,” Q smiles, running the silk through his fingers. “I could probably do with a practice session or two to work on my technique, assuming I can find a willing volunteer.”

“Perhaps a few sessions?” Bond smirks, taking the trailing end of the tie and turning his hand so that he and Q are bound gently by the wrist, fingers slotting together above the coiling black fabric. “Just to be certain.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://hollybennett123.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
